Poems May 2018

Folk artist

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They could have been drawn by a child but it wasn’t a child who was drawn to those tulips on the window sill those three black cats with eyes aglow the bird with a worm, the dog in the snow or the hand-drawn cart and the man behind it who moves through his days without a shadow who lifts his face to hers on the pillow both of them open in shadow-proof ways open to whatever goes and what stays in a one-room house with two people in it, so a child might have done it, but a child didn’t.

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